Burn Their Mongrel Hides
by Akillerduck
Summary: The Human-Covenant War told from the perspective of a brave ODST or lethal Spartan are common. But what is the war like from a more civil standpoint? Annabelle Statford's life is devoted to raising her child, Robby. But when the Covenant reach Kholo, and both their lives are put at risk, how will they survive with no Spartan in sight to save them, and little hope of escape?


**A/N: Canon Halo is property of 343 industries (formerly Bungie). Non-canon places, events and characters are of my own making and, to my knowledge, no plagiarism is present, nor is it intended.**

Kholo, a colony world of the UEG, has little to make it distinct. It is a world that is not abnormally large nor abnormally small: indeed, it has a size similar to Earth, and its atmosphere is a mixture of arid swathes of open, untouched land along the equator, separated by rolling hills that receive the full gaze of the planet's star during long summers. It's capital city, Pearl, is located in the southern Hemisphere of the planet, and is widely considered to be fittingly named – among those colonists of the sparsely populated and fairly secretive world, it is a gem: a place where lives are well-led and prosperity abundant, where your neighbours laugh long, fruity laughs and are always accompanied by a long grin and a comforting disposition.

To Annabelle Statford, whose life is consumed by the colossal challenge of raising a less than cooperative 8-year-old by herself, Pearl is anything but. She thinks her life couldn't get any more stressful, that this is the worst of it. But, as Robby – said child – would repeatedly mutter amongst strings of less than appropriate waffle: What does she know?

It is Tuesday afternoon, on the 8th January 2539. Statford is led loosely atop a sofa in her flat's living room. In a hand she grasps a tall white cup, emitting thin coils of steam that rise, lick the air and vanish within seconds. Her other arm is folded behind her head, which sits supported on the sofa's left arm, long hazelnut hair spreading over said arm like a stretched mop. The television in front of her is alight with the usual messages of UNSC propaganda that fill up all channels: Talk of some great war, of vicious lizard creatures and colossal war machines, of brave Marine Corps volunteers holding back some great foe, and of hulking armoured super-humans – Spartans. Every week they would bring this up, and every week she would tut to herself reassuringly.

"_Aliens?" _she murmured as if overheard, as per usual, "Beams that turn worlds to glass? Rubbish. Propaganda to make us focus on the innies, tha's it. Some stupid cover-up so we all go and enlist in the glorious UNSC, tha's it." She sighed, and took a long slurp of her black coffee. _"_Giant worm monsters? Lizards with energy shields? Rubbish!_"_ She repeated, her voice spiked with venom. She wasn't against the UNSC by any means, but this constant spoon-feeding of lunacy was beginning to rub her up the wrong way.

Her trail of thought was lost completely following the jolt of a door handle and the pained creak of a hinge, the kind you'd expect from an aging cat trying to jump a fence. A few loud thumps of feet followed, and within a few seconds a pair of emerald-blue eyes on a pale, freckle-sprinkled frame was gazing down at her in no particular manner.

"Hey, Mum!" He chimed, dramatically elongating the 'e' as he tapped her head. "School's terrible, can we move? I don't like anyone at my school!" His tone was matter-of-fact, and he raised his head diagonally from her to emphasize.

"Peter and Ellie and Rick are all mean to me- Oh, hey, what's that?" He pointed a skeletal, chalk finger at the television, which was currently looping footage of a short, stocky silhouette wandering uncontrollably towards a smoking car wreck. It stomped into the gaze of a flickering headlight, which was struggling in vain to remain operational, and the tear in the creature's cover revealed a disproportionately fat hand, tipped with stubby finger-like appendages and made of interlocking scales, much like a reptile. A few seconds after this, the screen turned to static and the caption "A Strong Enemy for a Strong UNSC!" popped up in the bottom of the screen.

"That's nothing, Robby," She replied with a sigh, "Did Dad give you a lift?" She was trying to change the subject: setting a bad example by entering a fiery rage about UNSC habits was the last thing she wanted to do right now, but little Robby Statford was very persistent: "Can we get one? Is that a tortoise? My friend says his Dad brought a tortoise from Earth! Why don't I have a tortoise?" He was working himself up now, his arms twitching with built-up excitement and his eyes darting with no particular target in mind.

"Hang on, hang on, Robby." She interjected amidst his enthusiastic burst of requests, "You know what everyone thinks about having pets like that. People are buying into this, surely your friends at school are telling you about it? I'll get you one when this nonsense blows over, I promise." She pecked his head and sent him to bed after an uneventful supper.

Lying beneath a bloated duvet in her bedroom, Annabelle sat and sighed. She was unable to get to sleep and was deep in thought, which made her shiver with nerves. Her inability to get to sleep was no surprise to her, she'd been an insomniac all her life, but the content of her thoughts did: She gazed at the chandelier directly above her, and thought about the one that hung directly above Robby, just down the hall. She thought about the shape of one of the candles and its holder. _Looks like a needle, _she thought, _if that fell during the night I'd die before I ever knew what hit me. And so would Robby, if his fell… No. That won't happen. What's wrong with me?_

She managed to get to sleep at 3am, according to her bedside clock, and was sent bolt-upright, murmuring with annoyance and tiredness-fuelled profanity, by a sudden ring of the hallway's phone. In green letters next to her read '3:05'. This made her sigh as she climbed out of bed and stumble through the half-open door, leaving the room behind her bathed in light. She didn't think anything much of it, perhaps a late-night scam attempt or sale, but she soon would.


End file.
